


Along the Path

by Illegible_Scribble



Series: 31 Days of Frodo/Sam, 2018 [22]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Concerns & Reassurances, Fluff, Ithilien, M/M, Mid-Quest, Smoochtober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:43:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: Frodo and Sam are given a brief moment to speak, while Faramir leads them to Henneth Annûn. During which, they find a measure of comfort to share between them.





	Along the Path

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this prompt](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/132744) for Smoochtober 2018, #22: Blindfolded Kiss.

It was an agonizing thing, to be trapped unseeing among Men that might yet prove foe more than friend, and be unable to speak of one's fears or seek comfort in words.

As it was, the Men steering them by the shoulders were gentle enough, handling them roughly only by necessity, when it seemed the path beneath them took an unexpected turn. Apologies were murmured at these times – for which Frodo was grateful, though they did little to ease his growing fear.

By now they had no idea where they were, and in spite of Faramir's noble demeanor – and sterner and wiser he seemed than Boromir – they were still in his keeping, and Frodo's mind reeled endlessly with turns of phrase he hoped would set them free. No matter Faramir's inherent fairness, the crazed look in Boromir's eye as he had grappled for the Ring haunted Frodo even still.

They were captured, by those that would likely be friends, if only they could be trusted so far as to restrain their temptations and let them go – and letting them go was the only means of escape from their holding. A dozen reasons against fleeing in attempted secret flew through Frodo's mind, chief among them being that he feared to use the Ring so near the Black Lands, he would not leave Sam behind, and even if they did escape, what then? These Men were tall and grim, and rangers no less – they would be found just as before, and anyway they'd no idea where Gollum – their only guide – had gotten to.

Frodo had heard no talk of ungainly creatures spotted skittering among the undergrowth, and so hoped Gollum had kept himself out of trouble for the moment, and would remain so. However, the thought of trying to find him again, even if they were released peacefully in the end, presented a troubling concern.

As his mind spun wildly with stress from questions and knowing more were on the horizon (not to mention, he was afraid of where they were being taken), Frodo remembered what this had been like in Lothlórien. He had been far less afraid, then; perhaps in part for the inherent fairness and gentleness of the Elves, but also for the company of the Fellowship, and the assurances of Aragorn and Legolas all would be well.

This was the first moment of time not otherwise allotted to other concerns, for Frodo to miss them all, and fear for what had become of them. Of his cousins, he hoped them safe – unreasonable as it was to wish, perhaps back in Rivendell, or even the Shire – Aragorn a swift arrival in Minas Tirith, and for the others... all good fortune, whatever sort they might seek. He mourned for Gandalf, and the fallen Boromir as well. Their parting had not been amiable, but Frodo remembered fondly the kindness and guidance with swordplay he had shown to Frodo and his kin.

Feeling overwhelmed with memory and the desperation to piece together wise words to persuade Faramir to release them, Frodo lifted a shaking hand as they walked – and he hoped not to the ire of the ranger guiding him. To his relief, he found easily a hand the size of his, trembling as much as his own. He took Sam's hand, and held it tightly – whether for his own assurance or to offer some to Sam, he could not tell.

Their guards said nothing, and over time – as the hobbits were separated and lifted this way and that over the path – they even would guide the hobbits' arms in the appropriate direction, to find the other's hand again. This brought Frodo some kernel of comfort.

He could not tell how long they'd been walking, when Faramir's voice came from ahead of them, ordering a brief half. To their surprise, the hobbits found themselves being spun around several times – causing them to lose all sense of direction – before they were guided gently to a spot off the path, and instructed to sit. They complied, and moments later heard footsteps approaching. “When last did you sit at a nourishing meal?” Faramir asked of them.

“The day you discovered us,” Frodo replied.

“T'was just two old coneys and a bit of herb in a thin stew, like,” Sam added, sounding weary.

“Otherwise, we've had only what was gifted to us in Lórien by the Lady and her entourage.”

“Which ain't very filling, after a fashion, I'm afraid.”

They heard no spoken replies for some moments, but a shuffle of feet was all around them. “We've still a distance yet to cross, and a few provisions to spare. We can offer you a portion of dried meat and nuts, unless you should prefer a simple rest.”

Frodo could hear the eagerness and wary hesitance in Sam's voice as he tried to speak, and so answered for the both of them. “We would be grateful for anything you see fit to offer us, Captain; thank you.”

“I fear at the moment it is the best hospitality we can offer you.” there seemed to be a note of regret in Faramir's voice.

More feet shifted and hurried around them, and within a few moments – at a word – a handful each of nuts and dried strips of meat were handed to them, and they spoke their thanks. As near as Frodo could tell, they were walnuts and beef. “Sir,” murmured Sam, “are you sure...?”

Before anyone around them could speak, Frodo replied in a quiet – but not secretive tone, “If they wished to kill us, Sam, they've had many previous opportunities to do so, with greater ease than poison. I trust Faramir this far, at least.” At this, he slipped a walnut into his mouth. As any walnut is, it was crunchy, and quickly a few chunks got stuck in his teeth. For that, and its normal flavor, Frodo decided it was fine. “I've not died yet.” he said to Sam.

He heard a disgruntled huff, but then moments later the sound of chewing. “This... is good.” Sam said after some moments. “Welcome change from _lembas_.”

“Absolutely,” Frodo said around a mouthful of jerky. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to eat something beyond a vaguely-sweet and crumbly shortbread.

They had a short while longer to rest after they'd finished, and settled closer to one another, taking up hands again. “No whispering, nor fiddling with the blindfolds.” was advised from in front of them, and they murmured their agreement to this.

“The Captain don't seem... so bad.” Sam said after a while, shyly stroking Frodo's hand. “But bother, he don't listen well, do he?”

“I think he does; perhaps too much.” Frodo sighed wearily, and leaned against Sam. “And his desire to learn what he can before he makes a decision is wise. Would you believe us, if you were looking at us from where he stands?”

Sam in turn leaned against his master. “Nay,” he said after a while, “so what is it we'll do?” His hands tightened around Frodo's, and Frodo knew he was afraid.

“I don't know yet,” Frodo knew this was not reassuring, from more than Sam stiffening and then shaking with a smothered sob, “but whatever happens, I believe Faramir will treat us fairly. It is our part to meet his courtesy with ours, as we can.”

“That'll be a treat for me,” Sam's grip grew tighter at his distress with himself, “I'm likely gonna go and say sommat awful thick and daft, but mark me, it'll be courteous.”

“Shh,” Frodo soothed, “we'll be all right – and you're not so clumsy as you think, Sam. I'll do my best to take care of us, but if it comes to it, I trust you. Just keep your head, and stay calm.”

Sam made a distressed wheezing noise. “And here I thought I'd be the one taking care of _you_. Awful sorry for me blubbering...”

Frodo managed a faint laugh, but felt his eyes grow wet with tears. “It's all right; we take turns. Now's my turn to take care of you.” With these words, somehow it felt right to gather one of Sam's hands in his own, and place a kiss on the knuckles. “We've come this far, I'll do my best not to let us – let you – down.”

Sam took a great breath, seeming to compose himself. “Aye,” his voice was still a little shaky, “I don't think you will.”

As Faramir called for the company to resume their journey, Frodo and Sam stood again, feeling – as much as they could – braver, for the knowledge of the other's care, and devotion to their shared safety.


End file.
